


Confession

by Artm2



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Study, Confessional, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 14:16:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9552497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artm2/pseuds/Artm2
Summary: Confession is supposed to be good for the soul. If not good, at least it helps to focus. An AU look at Garcia Flynn.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Timeless, I just enjoy taking their characters out to play.

The hunter opened the door to the small remote church. The building was new; a gift to this small community from a generous patron recently moved to this out of the way part of the world. The patron had been seeking refuge, a place to hide, from the relentless hunter that was slowly, methodically decimating the ranks of the secret organization to which he belonged.

The hunter removed his hat, his dark hair neatly combed back, his clothes nondescript but pressed and clean. He would have fit in well enough in any number of locals. The only things remarkable about him were his piercing eyes and dark good looks. He often made women pause and stare, a few had offered themselves. But none of that mattered to him. Only his mission mattered.

The building was so different now, but yet so familiar to him. Even in this now it felt like the haven it was to him. The setting sun streamed through the stained glass windows, now bright, clear, and new, painting the floor in a kaleidoscope of colors. He paused to savor the moment, it was rare for him to do anything for himself. Everything, all the time, was for the cause, always for the cause. The church was empty save a few townsfolk who prayed silently near the front. The hunter walked along the wall until he came to the confessional. He opened the door and slipped inside, squeezing his tall frame into the small booth.

"Father, forgive me, for I have sinned. It has been... many years since my last confession." he said in a low voice remembering the words his mother had taught him.

"Yes, my son. What sins burden you?" was the tired reply from the priest from the other side of the partition. A small part of the priest tried to place the foreign accent. Obviously this wasn't a man from the village.

"Murder."

The man could hear the priest shift in his seat and clear his throat. "My son, do you speak of murder in thought…" he trailed off, cleared his throat again, and spoke, "…or in deed?"

The man sighed and closed his eyes, reliving the latest death. It had been short and brutal. He had only just washed the blood from his hands before coming. The town's wealthy patron had not run far enough. "No Father, in deed."

The hunter could almost imagine this small town priest trying to come up with a response. A small smirk crossed his lips. Finally the priest said, "We all sin and fall short of the glory of God. His forgiveness knows no bounds." his voice shaking slightly.

"No Father. There is no forgiveness. Not for me." the hunter rasped out in reply. The smirk had vanished.

"Indeed? Why don't you let me be the judge of that." Apparently the priest had overcome his initial shock.

The hunter enunciated carefully,"I have committed countless murders Father." he paused and wet his lips. The priest could hear the man swallow and take a deep breath. Then he continued on, "Countless murders Father. I don't even remember them all."

The priest pondered for a moment. The man's voice was so raw and filled with sorrow. It didn't sound like the voice of a hardened killer. "My son, it is not for me to ask why, but I feel I must. Why have you done these things?"

There was a long pause. All the priest could hear was heavy breathing, as if the man was attempting to control his emotions. Finally the man replied, his voice low and sad, "For love."

"Yes?" was the only reply the priest offered. He waited, he knew that there had to be more to the situation than that. A moment later he was rewarded for his patience.

"My family was killed. My wife... my daughter... murdered in their beds." his voice rough and heated. The priest heard the man choke back his emotions. "All for my sin of knowing the wrong information and taking that information to the authorities."

"And you have murdered these others, in what? Revenge?" asked the priest.

"Yes Father. I had hoped that I could somehow bring them back." the man replied, his voice low and controlled once more.

"My son, you know that vengeance belongs to He whom created us all. You can not change the past, no matter how you try." the priest said.

"But I can, I must. I've altered enough. The changes have already brought her back. Just not to me. Not yet. But soon. And then, I hope, my little girl." The man's voice was raw again, his speech almost feverish.

The priest sat back and stunned by what he had heard. Surely this man's grief had made him lose his grip on reality. All he could do though was offer penance and His forgiveness. Only God could heal this man's mind, ease his grief, and perhaps offer him peace.

"My son, I can offer you forgiveness but you must spend the rest of your life in penance. You have taken life, many lives, you must now live with that knowledge and not take any more."

"I will take as many lives as necessary until it is finished and this plague is wiped from the earth. Perhaps then…" the man trailed off, his voice getting so soft it was barely discernible, "…maybe then she will know me, she will come back to me… and all will be as it once was."

The priest heard the man on the other side of the partition shift and begin to rise. "I am sorry Father. I know there is no forgiveness for me. I am sorry to have wasted your time." the man said as he opened the confessional door.

"My son, wait!" the priest replied as he attempted to rise and leave the booth. His old bones didn't respond as quickly as he would have liked and by the time he stood and opened the door all he saw was the tall dark man closing the church door behind him. The priest bowed his head and prayed, holding onto the confessional door in support. He prayed that somehow, somewhere, this troubled man would find peace.

As the hunter strode out into the night the cool air cleared his head and helped him focus on his next mission. Maybe this next time Lucy would know him for something other than a killer. Maybe this next time Rittenhouse would finally be eradicated and he could take her home. But if not, there was always the time after that, or the time after that. He would keep killing as long as it took. After all, what good was a time machine if not for changing the past and restoring his future?


End file.
